


Out the Backdoor

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angry Old Men, Hate Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4323018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like most of their hook-ups, it started with an argument.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out the Backdoor

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this pretty much listening to [Miss Jackson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUc_jXBD9DU) on loop jfc.
> 
> [Tumblr link](http://captainbaneberry.tumblr.com/post/123867457818/out-the-backdoor-baneberry-the-transformers): because a reblog is always appreciated! （●>ω・）ﾉ

Like most of their hook-ups, it started with an argument.

Froid and Rung had been called in for a Q&A at the Academy of Science and Technology's psychology department. They were also asked to debate a number of psychological treatments and diagnoses now considered outdated or questionable in their field.

While Froid was the first guest speaker asked to attend, Rung later found out he'd simply been a last minute replacement for someone else. The head of the department intended for another psychologist to take the stage with Froid, but they cancelled due to a sudden emergency. It just so happened a student had read the _Rungian Theory_ and proposed they invite its author instead, considering his book covered most of the material for the planned debate.

Although the professor was apprehensive, it was too late to cancel everything. So that was how Rung ended up going to the lecture as one of the two special speakers. He tried not to take offense when the professor confessed to being unfamiliar with his work (as well as most of his class), as this was unfortunately nothing new. But it was a little difficult for Rung to overlook the fact he'd been introduced as "Rube"; even the projector casting a hologram on the far wall said SPECIAL EVENT: FROID AND RUBE Q&A AND DEBATE.

The event was underway, as soon as Rung politely corrected the professor in regards to his name. At first, things went rather smoothly, and very professional. Most of the questions were geared at Froid, however; a number of his answers Rung disagreed with, but remained respectfully quiet.

Save it for the debate.

When the debate finally started, that calm before the storm started to pass. It was clear that Rung and Froid were at odds with each other over most of the material. And while they never resorted to yelling or interrupting or waving fists in the air, the tension mounted. If any of the budding psychologists in this class knew what they were doing, this would be obvious. No one pointed this out, however; great minds duking it out was much more entertaining, even though no one had thrown a punch.

The frustration always accumulated to the same head every single time Rung and Froid had an argument in the public eye. Rung's voice would become strained, his fingers tightly curled into fists. Froid's optics would brighten, sometimes flash, and he'd drum his digits in a rhythm on whatever was nearby, be it the podium he was currently standing at or his own arm. These little ticks were ignored by most, but even the professor could tell things were getting a little personal.

They never got bad enough where the professor had to step in and try to diffuse the situation, fortunately. Froid and Rung had been going at each others throats for years now, and made it into something of an art. This was an age old dance between them; it was only natural. Routine, even.

In the end, no one in that class knew the eventual outcome.

After the debate, Froid and Rung wished the students the best of luck and a good day and headed off. Probably to go air out their frustrations. To most people, that would be having a hard drink, maybe ranting to a friend or colleague.

Not secretly going to a hotel with your rival and nemesis and fucking them.

But that's how it happened. Not all the time, but enough that it was becoming dangerously close to a pattern. It really depended on how heated the argument got. Sometimes there was no hatred or disgust--it was just a matter of disagreeing with each others methods. Sometimes there was no ulterior motive; no desire to embarrass or shut down the other. It was borderline healthy, and as close to getting along as these two could get.

Sex may have been intimate, but it didn't necessarily require love or fondness.

Froid's gasp turned into an amused, wicked little chortle; he wrapped his long arms around Rung's skinny shoulders, holding onto the smaller bot. They hadn't even made it to the berth; two steps inside the shady motel, and they were on the floor, Froid pinned against the wall, mouthpiece yanked free, lips biting and sucking and occasionally kissing--

"Did I--ah--strike a nerve today?" Froid purred into Rung's audiol, spindly fingers tapping against the back of his head.

Rung held onto Froid's hips, between the taller mech's legs, as he ruthlessly thrust inside him. "They're--they're young," he rasped, finally, fingers digging into seams.

Froid smirked, spreading his legs wider. He rode into the unit, cycling air in heavy pants. "Please," he swallowed, "I w-was hardly being manipulative..."

Rung snarled, thrusting in hard enough to earn a small hiss from his partner. Young minds--young minds that obviously admired Froid, ate right from his palm. Their minds so open and so easy to shape and mold. The idea of them following Froid in his footsteps--Rung took Froid's bottom lip between his teeth, biting down sharply.

Froid yanked Rung's head back, thumbs digging into the corners of his mouth. "But d-deep down," he whispered harshly, "you c-can't deny _everything_." He plucked off the orange bot's glasses, tossing them aside.

Rung's optics blazed. Froid was... right. He represented so many things wrong in the mental health and research community, and yet the insufferable bastard was still so brilliant and insightive.

Froid whimpered, slammed back against the wall, head bouncing on its hard surface. Rung kissed him, silenced him, hands dragging down white and blue thighs. His hips snapped, punctuating every thrust, each time hitting sensitive sensory nodes. Froid's groan shivered past his lips, and in that moment, both of their clever minds quieted, allowing more primitive and primal emotions to take the reigns.

Don't think, don't think. It made this so much less shameful. (And yet it only makes things _better_ , don't you think?) Don't think, don't think.

Suddenly, Rung found himself easily pushed aside, maneuvered until he was stretched out on the floor. He went to sit, but Froid's hand on his chest slammed him back down. Froid adjusted the orange bot until he was flat on his back, and with only a small growl, slid back down on his unit, straddling his hips.

Rung groaned, hands flying to grab Froid's hips.

Froid smirked; he plucked Rung's fingers from his sides, squeezing his wrists and holding them above the smaller bot's head. "Just... how far..." Froid breathed, riding hard and fast on the unit, "... can you _stretch_...?" His own long arms stretched out, pulling Rung's along; not nearly the same length, before they were even straight, Froid was about to pop them from Rung's shoulder sockets.

Rung hissed between grit teeth, bucking up into an arch. Froid took him to the hilt, gasping and loosening his grip. Rung freed himself, taking this moment of distraction to shove Froid off of him.

Froid made a sound akin to a hiccup, dislodged and falling back onto the floor. He blinked his dazed optics; gasped when Rung suddenly took him by the knees, yanked him across the floor a few feet. Froid then laughed, a raspy hissing noise as Rung pushed back inside him, his legs thrown over those scrawny shoulders.

Froid threw his head back, coolant dribbling from the corners of his mouth. If Rung had been holding back earlier, he sure wasn't now. His backstrut curled as Rung leaned in closer.

"Trying to b-break me?" Froid smirked, squinting one optic.

Rung pumped in a rhythm, working Froid's ceiling node with each hit. "It w-won't be me," he grumbled.

Froid might have had a comeback, but with one last particularly extra hard thrust, overload washed through his lanky frame. He rolled up against Rung with a small cry, transfluid escaping in little splurts around Rung's unit deeply seated in his channel.

Froid laid there, cycling air, chassis quivering. Things felt a little calmer.

Almost.

Froid pulled himself free, and before Rung could say anything, he turned on hands and knees, dipping down to take Rung's still erect unit in one hand. "First t-thing you did r-right today," Froid sneered, and ran his tongue up along the cord, wiping away a line of his own transfluid, "should be rewarded..."

Nothing went right today. But Rung, instead, placed his hand on top of Froid's head, guiding it along as he took his unit in his mouth, sucking hard. Rung groaned, head lulling back, optics closing. The noises Froid was making were obscene, Rung's cheekplates turning very hot. Obscene, but damn if they weren't arousing.

Rung grunted; he tightened his grip on Froid's head finial. He bucked his hips forward, overloading finally. It only lasted a minute or so, but the aftershocks had him shaking long after.

Froid sat up slowly. He turned his head and spit out the excess transfluid.

Rung twitched.

" _That's_ never disappointing," Froid said, his voice a little harsh. He rubbed at his throat, clearing his vocalizer. "Now. How do you feel?"

Rung just... chuckled. "How much will this session cost me?"

Froid picked up Rung's glasses, sliding them on the orange bot's face. "Doctors are the worst patients, they say," he said, then gathered to his feet.

Rung smirked. He supposed irrationality and even a little madness came with their territory.


End file.
